


as many sorrows as there are drops left in our glasses.

by piggywrites



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Bars and Pubs, F/M, First Meetings, Russia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-10-21 15:25:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17645393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggywrites/pseuds/piggywrites
Summary: There's an old pub in Saint Petersburg Aleksandra Zaryanova goes to forget everything.Among the dim lights and the stench of cheap vodka, she finds a new friend. A kindred spirit. Someone she could allow herself to relate to.In that pub, she finds Mako Rutledge.





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> It seems whenever I write fic, it always ends up being something about miserable Russians and their not-Russian objects of desire and-
> 
> You know, I have a type. 
> 
> Anyway! Consider this my first Overwatch fic involving my absolute (unfortunately rarepair) OTP ♥ I low-key wrote this for [@orangekissess](https://twitter.com/orangekissess) bc goodness do I love their art and I wanted to thank them for making such gorgeous Zarya art and iudsfhkj bless
> 
> Here's a little thingy about how I hc they met. I apologise if my interp of Zarya is a bit wonky- I usually write for Roadhog, so my Zarya muse is still new ;w;   
> The title is a reference to a really long-winded russian drinking toast I really like ;w; 
> 
> I cut this up into multiple mini chapters, so trust that I'll be working on this! :D
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy this! ♥

There was a pub in older parts of Saint Petersburg where miserable old souls came to drink their pain away.    
It was cold and dimly lit with meager neons dangling above, vintage posters up on the walls and the smell of sweat, wet wood, and cheap vodka permeating the the room. The bar was old and had already been carved into with cyrillic profanities, sticky with residue from spilled drinks and dried tears. 

For reasons unknown, Aleksandra had decided that this ugly basement of an establishment was one she felt comfortable with. It reminded her of Uncle Misha’s own pub back in her hometown- the one she had never been old enough to drink in, herself. The one that had been destroyed many years ago. 

The pub also allowed her to retire from the spotlight. Nobody cared for her name or her fame the moment she stepped down the small wooden staircase that led her to her gloomy respite. 

There were very few patrons sitting about, all keeping to their own as the tall woman entered and nodded to the barkeep. 

A few words were exchanged, a grin, some cash, a glass. Vodka. 

What kind of symbol of the Russian Nation would Zaryanova be if she didn’t drink vodka? 

Kicking back the shot glass, she let the drink burn her throat. She didn’t drink very often, no, but when she did… 

It reminded her her body was alive. That she was a being of flesh and blood. That she was human. 

It felt good. 

Tonight, however, she hadn’t come only to drink and shy away from the rest of the world, for once. There was something she wanted to tend to. Curiosity she wanted to satiate. 

It all came down to the presence of a man in the shadows, one who she had noticed a week ago. One she hadn’t spoken to at first, as she assumed he wished for peace- but also one she seemed to be drawn to as she watched him from afar.    
He sat there in the darkness of one of the booths, wrapped up in a coat and nursing a pint of cheap beer. 

‘ _ A foreigner _ ,’ Aleksandra thought, ‘ _ we don’t get many of those, these days. _ ’

She continued to observe him from where she sat before she finally rose to her feet, ordering a bottle from the barkeep which she then brought along with two shot glasses for her and the elusive gentleman over there. 

“You come to  _ Russia _ ,” she began, speaking English in a lowered tone, “and you drink this?”

The man was a curious sight to witness, if anything. He alone took up most of the space of the seat he sat in, massive thing that he was, an absolute mountain of a man- His face was covered, for the most part. He wore a leather mask of sorts, and Aleksandra noticed a scar that went down his jawline to his throat. 

As the woman had spoken to him, he looked up from his glass, cocking his head to observe her with a grunt.    
He didn’t reply. 

Barely pushing up his mask, he downed his pint of beer and lowered the glass to the table. Once he had pushed it aside, he nodded to her bottle of vodka. 

She grinned before she spoke again. 

“I’ll drink with you.” 

Aleksandra sat down across from him, crossing her legs at the ankle as she presented the bottle to the foreigner and settled a shot glass in front of him. He took it, the ridiculously dainty thing, holding it in his large, calloused fingers and twisting it around as the woman poured the drinks. One for him. One for herself. 

This evening was going to be interesting. 


	2. ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! 
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read this! And big apologies to those who have been expecting a second chapter for uh... Two months? Class is killing me atm lmao
> 
> Funfact! 'Na zdarovje' is actually not a common way for Russians to say 'cheers', and is often regarded as a usual foreigner's mistake! The more you know! 
> 
> Hope you like it! :D 
> 
> ♥

Roadhog hadn’t really expected it all to end like this. 

With the rat out of the picture, he felt somewhat lost. A mess-up in Estonia caused the two criminals to lose sight of each other. 

‘ _ Petersburg. Next stop is Petersburg, Hoggy _ !’

The boy’s insufferable voice rang in Roadhog’s head.  _ Petersburg _ . 

_Saint_ _Petersburg_. 

He was there. All he had to do was wait. Wait for the scrawny bastard to come waltzing in as though nothing had separated them in the first place. Often, the Hog envied Junkrat’s ability to move on from fuck-ups as swiftly as he did. 

Lord knew he wasn’t capable of such a feat. 

Twenty five years had passed and he still mulled over his faults. Back when he was still young, still stupid. Still foolishly brave. He had hope. He  _ believed _ . He believed in the future of Australia, freed from Omnic influence, where the younger generations would bask in the Australian Liberation Front’s glory and thrive. 

A man could dream, couldn’t he? 

Decades later, here he was. A criminal crouching in an old Russian pub, being spoken to by a local who didn’t seem to be wary of him. 

Odd.

The Hog wasn’t used to receiving such… normal treatment. In all honesty, he was rather accustomed to outright rejection from others. Women, especially.    
It was no surprise to him that members of the fairer sex would be repulsed by his very existence. He was a crude, monstrous man- the kind mothers told their children about at night. His type would only be found in horror movies or niche pornography. He was disgusting. Horrible.  _ Vile _ . 

So, it was only natural that the very idea that a young woman, like the one who approached him there and then,would indeed seek him out, came as a surprise to him. 

She sat across from him and shared her swill- Roadhog accepted the generous offer. He was only a man, after all. A man had to drink.

“...  _ Na zdarovje, _ ” the Hog grumbled in horrendously broken Russian. 

Aleksandra’s lips were tugged into an amused grin.  _ Such a common mistake _ . She wouldn’t hold it against him. 

She nodded to him and took her glass, kicking it back before she breathed deeply and looked back up to the man before her. Blue-green eyes curiously glanced over his figure, his face- or rather, the general area of his face. 

“Why the mask?” Aleksandra asked conversationally, a friendly, if slightly tired, smile tugging at her lips. 

The Hog put down his empty shot glass before he gave a shrug and looked down upon the woman before him.  _ The girl has guts _ , he thought to himself as he returned the inquisitive gaze- without her knowing anything of it, of course. 

He didn’t reply. 

Aleksandra raised a brow to the silence the man offered her. She wondered why he didn’t answer. Was this a challenge? She grinned. She was in the mood for a  _ challenge _ . 

Cocking her head to the side, she poured another round, filling his glass, then hers. 

“Are you tryin’ to get me drunk?” 

His words were a low, growling rumble. He sounded tired and irritated. Aleksandra’s eyes lit up and she grinned again. 

“So, you  _ can _ speak.” 

“Answer the damn question.” 

The Hog’s heavy forearms rested on the measly wooden table between them, making it creak as he leaned forward.  _ Intimidating _ . He was  _ intimidating _ . Aleksandra, however, wasn’t impressed. She had had her share of gruff older men who thought themselves untouchable because they were bigger and stronger. She knew his type. 

She believed she did. 

A light chuckle escaped her before she crossed her legs over again, ankle to her knee, an arm draped over the back of the seat she was in. Taking her shot glass, she drank again, barely feeling the burn in her throat this time. She huffed, then replied. 

“No. I’m sharing a drink with a stranger. Is there anything wrong with that?” 

Another grunt. Roadhog took the shot glass and pushed his mask up to drink, turning himself away to hide his jaw from the nosy woman’s sight. He swallowed, then shook his head.   
No, there was nothing wrong with what she was doing- not inherently. He was just a grumpy old bastard who didn’t know when to take what life threw at him. 

There was another silence between them. One that was only occasionally interrupted by the clinking of glasses or the gentle hum of the pub’s background playlist.    
They played old songs. Very old songs. Music older than Aleksandra was, and probably even older than the foreigner before her. It was one of the reasons she liked this pub so much- because it was timeless. Because she could lose her sense of reality there. 

The Hog stared down at his empty shot glass, then back up to the woman before him. She wasn’t pouring for him. He’d do so himself.    
Plucking her bottle from her hand, he poured the drink, filling the glass to the brim before he drank again, breathing deeply before he spoke up. 

“You come ‘ere often?” 

“Sometimes, when I happen to be in town. I like this bar,” Aleksandra replied with a shrug. 

The Hog snorted, then looked over at the young woman, resting an arm on the back of his seat. He seemed more relaxed- as relaxed as a man like him could be. Perhaps was he simply playing coy to test Zarya’s patience as she had been testing his. 

“And do you often share drinks with old blokes like this?” 

He seemed to be insinuating something. Aleksandra quirked a brow, pink nails tapping against her shot glass. She didn’t like it one bit. 

“Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong. I’m not-“

“Yer not stupid, at least,” the Hog interrupted her, a mirthful chuckle making his fat gut rise. “I ain’t exactly sugar daddy material.” 

“Perhaps not.” 

“Then why’re you drinking with me?” 

Zarya blinked a little before she pried the bottle of vodka from the Hog’s massive hand, pouring herself a glass. She let a moment of silence lie over them before she replied, quietly speaking again. 

“Because I’m as alone as you are.” 


End file.
